The leaves are falling, falling from afar,
as if in heaven distant gardens wilted;
they fall with gestures of negation.
At night the heavy earth in somber evocation
falls into solitude from every star.
We all do fall. This hand here falls,
and look at others: it is inherent in them all.
And yet, there’s Someone who forestalls
in infinitely tender hands each fall.
Archaic torso of Apollo...
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